


Speak a Little Louder, Pull Me a Little Closer

by moasteaxtea



Category: TOMORROW X TOGETHER | TXT (Korea Band)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt Choi Beomgyu, Hurt/Comfort, Late night discussions about triggers, M/M, Panic Attacks, Past Abuse, Safewords, Yeonjun is confused, Yeonjun is good at Listening, Yeonjun steps on the Ramen, they are really just soft boyfriends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-13 22:55:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29036589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moasteaxtea/pseuds/moasteaxtea
Summary: For them it was all fun and games, right up until it wasn't
Relationships: Choi Beomgyu/Choi Yeonjun
Comments: 11
Kudos: 71





	Speak a Little Louder, Pull Me a Little Closer

* * *

beta'd (and also partly written) by [iloveyourrosecheek](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iloveyourrosecheek/pseuds/iloveyourrosecheek) here on ao3 :)

* * *

Yeonjun has been chasing Beomgyu around for awhile now. It’s late, _one in the morning_ , and they’re definitely going to be hearing from grumpy lower-floor neighbours in a few, but that’s a worry for _later_.

Right now though, they’re giggling and stomping around their shared apartment, letting out alarmed screeches whenever either comes within a grabbing foot of the other.

It’s admittedly fun, and only mildly annoying – Yeonjun scowls, and corrects himself – it’s _very_ annoying, as Beomgyu roughly swings his wardrobe open, and ruthlessly _yanks_ several handfuls of his clothes off their hangers. Yeonjun audibly and dramatically gasps, feigning hurt. The clothes in that wardrobe are old, yeah, and he has been looking to get rid of them for a while, sure, but Beomgyu doesn’t need to _mangle_ them!

Yeonjun halts in his tracks, raising his arms in surrender. He’s shirtless and _cold_ – Beomgyu stole his shirt earlier, which is sort of what led to this chase in the first place – and he’s not willing to remain topless unless it’s in their bed, or in the shower, or on top of Beomgyu.

“ _Don’t_ ,” Yeonjun starts, “Don’t do it,” he warns, tone firm, eyes flitting down to the tight hold Beomgyu has on nearly all his old clothes.

But Beomgyu’s smile only widens. It’s laden with mischief, and Yeonjun knows it’s futile to try verbally persuading him out of what he plans to do.

So, Yeonjun approaches him.

He starts out walking slowly, but soon picks up the pace; he’s determined to get there as fast as he can, maybe tackle Beomgyu to the ground before he gets to swing all his clothes around their apartment.

But as he’s silently plotting, Beomgyu grins, and Yeonjun realizes he’s too late. His boyfriend raises his arms, and sends every shirt, jacket, and accessory in his hold flying – right in Yeonjun’s direction.

It’s a storm of material, and Yeonjun’s _winded_ trying to dodge all of them - he _dances_ , for goodness sake, and he shouldn’t be getting so worn out from a little sidestepping.

Beomgyu is still giggling and throwing, when a projectile shirt hits Yeonjun like a cannon, right on his nose. He curses and unceremoniously falls on his behind, and tries his best to shield his face from the remaining onslaught of clothing.

He sits in place a while as he waits, idling away as Beomgyu slows in his momentum. His butt warms the floor. It’s actually pleasant and comfortable to be encased under all the clothing, but he _needs_ to get up – because Beomgyu has been a little _shit_ , and Yeonjun needs to maybe _kiss_ some discipline into his now giggling boyfriend-

He gathers his breath, and rises to his feet. The slide of the clothes draping on his body and down onto the floor only adds to the drama and apparent hilarity of it all – if Beomgyu’s incessant cackling is any tell.

Now, Yeonjun’s only _somewhat_ annoyed with Beomgyu, but if he’s to point at anything that _actually_ bothers him, it’s the mess of clothing on their floor. Well, _that_ , and the fact that _he_ is going to end up doing the brunt of the clean-up – as usual.

He’s walking up to his boyfriend, mind still reeling – he has work in a few hours, and after his shift is through, he’s got practice with his dance team – they’ve got a rigorous street competition coming up in a _week,_ and he’s _nowhere_ near ready for that – _and_ he’s working towards the hefty cash-prize the winner gets. And to add to it all, he’s cold and shirtless, and vaguely cross with his shirt thief of a boyfriend.

Their room echoes with silence, and Yeonjun realizes Beomgyu has stopped laughing. It is time he stopped anyways, it’s _way_ too late for giggling shenanigans.

Beomgyu is suddenly very silent, but Yeonjun only sighs, and drops to a low squat on the ground. He picks a scarf once sprawled on the floor, and looks at it with contempt. He’s going to be stuck picking up the likes of _these_ for a while.

“Yeonjun?” Beomgyu voices, dropping the clothing in his hold to the ground, concern etched in his tone.

Ah- _Beomgyu_.

With Beomgyu’s words, Yeonjun remembers he isn’t alone. Beomgyu _did_ make this mess in the first place, so why should he be the only one suffering to clean up?

Maybe they should get started on cleaning soon, so they can get to bed quicker. It’s going to be easier for him to function if he bags some sleep.

With a huff and a push off his feet, Yeonjun stands, and paces over to his boyfriend. He’s nearly right in front of him, when Beomgyu takes a step back.

Then another.

And another, and it goes on like that until the crook of Beomgyu’s knee hits the elbow of the dingy single-seater in the corner of their apartment. Beomgyu even goes so far as to shakily align himself with the couch, and _stand_ on it.

Yeonjun comes to a stop a foot away from Beomgyu; shuts his eyes, and takes a deep breath.

“Baby,” he sighs, “-come down here.” His voice comes out drearier than he’d intended, but he’s tired, so it’s expected.

Beomgyu doesn’t answer, and Yeonjun actually – finally – raises his gaze to meet his boyfriend’s.

He’s about to opt for the physical approach – lifting Beomgyu off the chair and sweeping him under the covers so they can _actually_ get to sleep – and he’s stretching out to lift his boyfriend when Beomgyu shakily drops to sit on the headrest, and shuffles away – _away?_ – _away_ from Yeonjun. It is at that time that his tired mind finally registers something is _wrong_.

As gently as he could manage, he stretches his arm out, and moves for his fingers to lightly brush his boyfriend’s face-

“Is everything okay?”

-only to be greeted with a violent flinch. Yeonjun frowns.

“Beomgyu?” He tries again, dropping his hand lower, maybe to affectionately caress Beomgyu on the shoulder, when Beomgyu shakes his head, and scoots even _further_ away, nearly sinking into the space between the beat-up couch and the wall. Yeonjun’s hand drops to his side.

“I-” Yeonjun perks – _finally_ , some spoken word, “-can you…” Beomgyu trails, eyes looking everywhere but at Yeonjun.

“Baby, I didn’t get that.”

Beomgyu’s voice is only slightly louder, but it is increasingly shaken – yet his eyes still make no contact with any point on Yeonjun’s face. “Can you please, leave?” Beomgyu asks, but his words sound more like a statement than a question.

Yeonjun blinks for a while, back still bent in an awkward manner, and stares at his shaking – and now, quietly crying – boyfriend. He then rises, and makes his way out the door – not closing it completely as he leaves.

This is serious – different from the banter they had been dabbling in before. Beomgyu clearly wants space, but Yeonjun’s concerned. He should do something to occupy his thoughts with something other than worry while his boyfriend gathers himself, right?

He doesn’t even register it when he pulls two cups of instant ramen from the shelf, and fills the kettle, and heats up some water. He’s too busy thinking of what could be happening with Beomgyu, what _had_ happened with him – what did he do? Was it his fault? Maybe he should have – what _should_ he have done? What caused this? When did he-

Until the kettle signals its work done with a resounding _ding_. It acts as a bell pulling him out of thought, and out of his worry.

It’s only for a moment though, as he soon slips back into his mind, nearly burning himself with water overflowing out of the cup of noodles. He curses, and quickly tries to clean the spilled liquid, letting out profanity after profanity after he _actually_ burns his fingers with the boiling water.

And _he’s_ supposed to be the better cook out of the two.

He drains the water out of the ramen, and makes his way with the noodles and the spices, settling on the floor behind the door leading to Beomgyu.

Gently placing the cups of food on the floor, he lightly knocks on the door.

“Is everything alright in there?”

Beomgyu sniffs, and doesn’t speak in reply.

Yeonjun hums, and wonders what to do.

His eyes drop to the cup of noodles. It’s been about ten minutes since Beomgyu asked him to leave.

Steam steadily rises out the cooked ramen.

“I have food,” He tries, crossing his legs so they’re placed more comfortably beneath him.

“It’s ramen…” he speaks again, this time a little less enthusiastic, slightly discouraged from the lack of a response to his last attempt.

Yeonjun doesn’t want to come across as overbearing, so he again drops his gaze to the ramen on the ground, relaxing his back onto the cool of the wall behind him. Their food is going to get cold. Yeonjun’s not exactly sure _why_ he made it in the first place, he’s not that hungry.

It’s quiet, aside from the occasional audible sob or sniffle, and it’s so quiet that Yeonjun has trouble staying awake between his staring matches with the floor and the unseasoned ramen. He catches himself drifting off a few times, reprimands himself for doing so, then tightens the bolts that hold his neck up, and he’s back into the world of the conscious.

Until they loosen themselves with sleep again. It’s a cycle.

He’s amid fighting off a sleepy spell when he hears his name, so faint and near inaudible he feels he dreamt it. He snaps his eyes open, awake with something other than the cold ramen around him to occupy his attention. Much like the steam from his untouched ramen, his voice rises,

“Beomgyu?”

Only for it to evaporate into the air.

Yeonjun frowns. He’s sure he heard his name, but considering how tired he is, he’d probably dreamt it. Beomgyu doesn’t answer his call, but what’s more disconcerting is that there’s _no_ sound behind the door.

No crying, no sniffling, nothing.

It’s completely silent.

“Did you call?” He tries again, and his voice echoes against the walls on either side of him.

“I did.”

Yeonjun’s shocked, jubilant, and concerned all at the same time, but-

“Did you want me for anything?” – he says instead, and is greeted with silence, _again_.

Now he’s beginning to doubt his sanity. Beomgyu _had_ spoken, right?

Or maybe he’d imagined it. He’s read before that sleep deprivation sometimes leads to hallucinations. Is that what is happening to him? Should he be worried? More importantly, should he be worried about Beomgyu? 

“I’m sorry-” Sound picks up on the other end of the doorway- “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have reacted that way, I’m-”

“Beomgyu?” Yeonjun’s up on his feet now, all traces of sleep gone and overshadowed by his worry. He’s wrapping a hesitant hand around the doorknob, trying to be gentle – because he knows _fuck-all_ about what is happening with his boyfriend – but he wants to be _there_ , dammit.

Instead of obeying the force asking him to walk in and wrap himself around his boyfriend, Yeonjun calms himself. Beomgyu’s picked up on the sobbing again, and he doesn’t want to- “Can I come in?”

Beomgyu hums between shaky sobs and hiccups, but Yeonjun is not sure that is confirmation enough for him to walk in.

“Beomgyu-”

“Yeonjun _please_ just do it.” There’s a hint of annoyance amidst the obvious outcry in his boyfriend’s tone, and Yeonjun would chuckle if he weren’t so worried. It’s just like Beomgyu to be annoyed with him at a time like this.

He’s in now, and Beomgyu is still wrapped up in his body, cooped up in what looks like an uncomfortable position, but still in the space Yeonjun had left him.

“Hey.” Yeonjun greets. He doesn’t know what to do with his body – his limbs feel all too lanky, and he looks like he’s too far away from Beomgyu – should he move closer? -or would that make things worse? Would Beomgyu take offence to him staying where he is? Should he-

There’s a wet sniffle on the other end of the room, “Can you stay over there?” Beomgyu voices, but doesn’t look up at him. Beomgyu stays with his arms wrapped around – and his chin rested upon – his knees.

Yeonjun robotically bends every joint to heed his boyfriend’s request, very aware of all internal movements as he politely kneels on the ground.

“I’m almost there.” Beomgyu quietly intones, a plea for patience behind his voice.

Yeonjun hums in his space, the sound intended as wordless acknowledgement and encouragement, and he too, drops his eyes.

He traces the lines between the spaces of the tile in their room, but it’s not long before his gaze eventually rises again, this time to outline his boyfriend’s body in his seat. Beomgyu looks awfully small where he’s settled, and he manages to look even smaller as he hugs himself even tighter.

“Just to be sure,” Beomgyu starts, his voice clearer now that he has stopped crying, but it’s more monotonous than Yeonjun had expected.

 _Never seen this side to him before, and you expect him to just switch back?_ Yeonjun then grimaces, and rights his thoughts. It _would_ be more unsettling if this Beomgyu just abruptly switched back to the laughing and giggling image of the Beomgyu half an hour ago. It would be weird, he supposes, if Beomgyu just pretends nothing is happening, especially after… _this_.

“-you’re not mad at me, right?”

“Huh?” Yeonjun blinks, then, “I mean- I’m not.” Yeonjun then cocks his head to the side. “Why would I be?”

“I don’t know.” Beomgyu’s words collide with one another, slurring out of his mouth as he presses his lips against his knee.

“You just… seemed,” Beomgyu coughs. “-sort of angry.”

Yeonjun’s eyebrows dip, and his forehead wrinkles as he pouts, feeling somewhat wronged.

“I wasn’t. You kind of make it annoyingly hard to get angry with you.”

“Annoyingly?” Beomgyu finally raises his eyes to meet Yeonjun’s. “Do you _want_ to be angry with me?”

“Not really.” Yeonjun replies, then wiggles his eyebrows, “I think I like it better when we’re kissing.” He suggestively comments, _then_ he remembers the position he’s in, and raises a hand to press over the traitorous lips that moved before his brain could.

At his comment, Beomgyu smiles, and Yeonjun knows he’s been let off this time.

As much as Yeonjun wants to keep smiling, there’s an elephant in the room, trampling on the upward tug of his lips, demanding itself be spoken about.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Yeonjun asks, trying to look as unassuming as possible, trying to come off as supportive, but not overbearing.

His words wipe the wistful smile off his boyfriend’s lips, and the minute action hits him like a slap to the face.

“You kind of deserve to know.”

Yeonjun gives a soft smile. “But there’s no pressure, baby.”

Beomgyu glances at him.

“Don’t give me options like those.”

Yeonjun frowns.

“Why not?”

“Because…” Beomgyu trails off, actually lifting his head to blankly stare at the wall beside him. Yeonjun’s eyes drift to the focal point of his boyfriend’s gaze, but they realign themselves when he realizes Beomgyu is staring into space.

“Because?” He tries, in an effort to grab his boyfriend’s attention and direct it to the matter at hand,

“Because, I’m not supposed to have choices.”

Yeonjun blinks. “Huh?”

“You aren’t supposed to give me a choice,” Beomgyu speaks, this time a little more exasperated and a little more desperate than the rest. “I never had those.”

“Choices?”

“Choices on things I want to do. If they felt I should do anything, if they felt they wanted something, I had to do it, I had to give it to them. Or they’d- there would be consequences.”

Yeonjun is unable to mask his confusion. 

“They? Them?” _Consequences?_

“My parents, Yeonjun.” Beomgyu deadpans, does so as though Yeonjun is supposed to get it, but Yeonjun doesn’t right away. He continues on,

“But... why wouldn’t you have a choice?” -especially regarding something as elementary as whether or not he is willing to speak on a sensitive matter – Yeonjun wants to add, but he keeps his question as is.

“I just wasn’t brought up that way.”

Yeonjun is curious, but he doesn’t want to put too much weight on the ice decorating the surface, or he could get swallowed up whole in the water. “So... _how_ were you brought up?” Yeonjun has only met his boyfriend’s parents a few times – as friends, they wouldn’t dare come out to their hard-wired and traditional parents – but his parents seemed like nice people. Strict parents, but nice.

“It’s not pretty.”

Yeonjun then realises how easy it is for parents to put up a front when around strangers.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Beomgyu looks conflicted, and opens his mouth as though to protest – maybe say something along the lines of objecting to giving him the room to make his decisions – but he settles down.

“They were sort of good parents.” He speaks with a bitter smile, putting a little light on them. “They gave me nice things, they provided for me, they sometimes made fun of me, yeah. But it wasn’t terrible.”

Yeonjun _mmm_ ’s, and Beomgyu finally releases his knees from the cocoon his arms provided, dropping them so his feet fall on the seat of the couch.

“But when they got angry, they changed. They just... they like,” Beomgyu vaguely gestures in the air, and raises a frustrated hand to grab at his hair. Yeonjun gives his boyfriend a look of sympathy.

“You don’t have to force yourself, Beomgyu.”

“I’m not _forcing_ myself; it just isn’t fun to revisit memories like those. I _want_ to tell you about this.”

Yeonjun nods, giving an encouraging sound.

“They stayed away from stuff like alcohol in general,” Beomgyu continues, “-so when they got angry, I knew it was them. I knew _they_ were angry, and it was – is really scary. For me, as a kid, to be terrified of the consequences of defying anything my dad or mom said I should do, that was… I don’t know? It was just… I felt really alone. I had my older brother, but we were mostly in the same boat, and we barely talked. And when he went off to college, it just got worse.”

“Hey-”

Beomgyu stretches out a hand, telling Yeonjun to stop talking, wiping the now falling tears with the back of his sleeve.

“It got worse, and I had nobody to shield me from their beating. I was all alone – and also a disappointment, and they made sure to let me know that after their day at work,” Beomgyu chokes out, “-every fucking day.”

Yeonjun sees in the corner of his vision, Beomgyu rubbing a spot on his thigh, a spot on his clothed skin, slightly higher and off to the side off the joint of his knee. 

Yeonjun furrows his brows, and inches closer.

“Are you-”

“You know those scars I told you about?” Beomgyu cuts in, and with his words, abruptly hushes his boyfriend. 

Yeonjun leans, his train of word and thought derailed by the question Beomgyu asked, and he assumes his former position.

He knows about the scars - the only scars Beomgyu has on his body, right below the spot of clothing Beomgyu’s been palming for the past few minutes. Caught up in their moments of exploration and fooling around, Yeonjun once asked Beomgyu where they came from. Beomgyu had dismissed them as unimportant, as an accident of splattering hot oil working at his old job at some fast food restaurant. So yeah, Yeonjun remembers. But what does that have to do with-

Yeonjun’s eyes widen with some sort of unconfirmed realization, but his gut twists in horror. “Yeah,” He cautiously - and finally - replies, scared of unspoken words, “...what about them?”

“I kind of lied about-” Beomgyu cuts himself off with a shaky sigh, and hunches his shoulders. “-they weren’t from a cooking accident.” Tears well up and steadily stream down old, dried trails on Beomgyu’s face. “It was… they – my dad-” Beomgyu’s words come out in slurred hiccups, and Yeonjun doesn’t feel he needs to hear the rest. 

He doesn’t need to hear the rest to have his chest constrict with a conflicting mix of disgust at his boyfriend’s parents, and an overwhelming wave of sadness for the boy in Beomgyu’s past – the younger him that had to go through all that, and the him that is seated before him now, the Beomgyu that’s struggling to keep himself together.

Pulling him out of thought, he hears Beomgyu speak again, “He sometimes smoked, and when I fucked up, if he was holding one of his cigs, he’d just…” Beomgyu trails off, giving Yeonjun a hopeful look. One that tells Yeonjun that Beomgyu is done speaking on the subject.

Yeonjun is not sure which voice is louder - the voice that curses Beomgyu’s parents over and over, or the voice that pushes him - urges him - to walk up to his boyfriend, hold him close, let him cry, wipe his tears.

But Beomgyu had said he should stay put. 

The two magnets acting on his body - the one pulling him to Beomgyu, and the one on the ground he’s seated on - keep him glued to his spot on the floor. He regulates his breathing with a few deep breaths, and he hears Beomgyu try to do the same on the other end of the bedroom.

Yeonjun gives his boyfriend what he hopes is an encouraging look, and waits for Beomgyu to clean himself up before he starts on speech again. 

“So… is that what…”

“Caused this?” Beomgyu helps him finish his sentence, his voice clearer, and Yeonjun nods. His boyfriend squeezes the spot on his thigh, and shrugs.

“Nobody’s ever had positive reactions to anger.”

Yeonjun’s eyes are teeming with tender affection. “But this was different, Beomgyu.”

Beomgyu’s shoulders sag.

“I know.”

“I wasn’t angry with you.”

Beomgyu gives him an apologetic look. “I know.”

“And your reaction isn’t something you need to apologize for, either.”

Beomgyu doesn’t reply to this one, but Yeonjun continues.

“I’m no psychologist,” He says, “-but I’m pretty sure your response to perceived anger is way too serious to be brushed off.”

Beomgyu gives him another look of apology, and takes an idle hand to rub at the skin of his other arm.

“I guess so.”

“Do you want us to talk about it now?”

Beomgyu bites his lip.

“I kind of have to.”

“Don’t feel like you have to _right now_ ,” Yeonjun stands, and paces over to the bed. He taps the space by his side, and Beomgyu comes to sit with little hesitation.

“-And I’d like to say you don’t have to ever talk about it with me, but we both know that would be a lie.”

Beomgyu’s body falls against Yeonjun’s shoulder. Like reflex, Yeonjun’s arm lightly wraps around his boyfriend’s body, and his lips rise to softly press upon the head of hair close to them.

Beomgyu hums.

“So,” Yeonjun starts, “-what would you describe your experience as?”

Beomgyu snorts. “Personal therapist.”

Yeonjun gives his boyfriend’s head a light pat, and a fond smile. “I’m honored. Now, focus.”

“Well it wasn’t fun, for starters.” Beomgyu leans into Yeonjun’s chest, allowing his limbs to encircle his waist.

Yeonjun frowns, and lightly pokes his boyfriend’s shoulder.

“Is that all?”

Beomgyu shrugs.

“I don’t know. I don’t know how else to describe it.” Yeonjun doesn’t know what to say now, so he just sits, and relishes in the warmth of Beomgyu’s body against his. He’d forgotten just how cold he was until now.

“-I just thought you were angry, then I panicked – wait, not panicked, I just… I got really… anxious? -and scared, too. I couldn’t say or hear anything except that you should stay away, but even that I couldn’t say out loud.” Beomgyu lifts the shoulder that isn’t pressed against Yeonjun’s chest in another shrug. “I’m not sure though. Everything was just really bad.”

“And you said this happened because you thought I was mad at you, right?”

Beomgyu nods, and his hair scrapes against Yeonjun’s nipple. He grimaces at the weird feeling.

“So anger is a trigger.”

“I guess so.”

Yeonjun hums.

“When did you start to feel like that? Like I was angry with you?”

“Today?”

Yeonjun nods, then remembers Beomgyu can’t see him. “Yeah.” He says instead.

Beomgyu is quiet for quite a while, Yeonjun fears he has gone to sleep, he’s about to check when Beomgyu starts again,

“It was when you stood from the floor. You dropped the clothes you were... inspecting, and you looked kinda scary. I felt like a child about to be reprimanded. That’s when it started.”

Yeonjun lets out another hum, and his chest lightly rumbles with the sound.

“So what now?” Beomgyu voices, and Yeonjun’s abdomen twitches at the newly introduced sensation of Beomgyu’s finger lightly tracing its outline.

“I don’t know.” He honestly replies, “I just don’t want this to happen again.”

Beomgyu doesn’t say a word, but the constant movement of his boyfriend’s finger on his skin tells him he’s awake – either distracted, or deep in thought.

Beomgyu sounds too apologetic when he speaks up again, “I’m not sure we can solve something like this overnight, Jun.”

“That’s not what I meant at all.” Yeonjun rushes in to comfort, “-I just… I don’t want you to end up afraid of me, and I think you deserve to have a voice. If anything I do makes you feel like you did today, I think you should say so.” Yeonjun hugs his boyfriend closer. “Remember that I’m here to listen to you, no matter what.”

“But how- I mean, I’m usually not great with words at times like those… I don’t want to end up pushing you away, but I don’t want you there if all I’m going to do is insult you.”

“So, before it gets to that point, you use a safe word. They can exist for reasons outside of sex too.”

Beomgyu lets out a frustrated sigh, and Yeonjun feels the draft of air tickle his skin. He shivers.

“But which one?”

Yeonjun looks to the ceiling in thought.

“We kind of both need a shower, so…”

“Shower?”

“No. jacuzzi.”

“Isn’t that kind of long?”

“Okay then, how about soap?”

Beomgyu hums. “I think that’s fine. It’s weird enough to not be confused with normal conversation.”

“So we’re agreed? Soap for when you want me to stop anything that makes you uncomfortable?”

Beomgyu nods. Then yawns – right on Yeonjun’s chest.

“Gross.” Yeonjun jests, “Your breath stinks.”

Yeonjun grimaces – as with Beomgyu’s face practically shoved against his skin, he feels his boyfriend’s eyes roll in their sockets. “You can’t even smell it from over there, shut up.”

Yeonjun leans backwards, pressing his weight on the hands that rest on the bed behind him. “You admit it’s gross?”

Beomgyu slaps the skin on Yeonjun’s back.

“I didn’t say a word.” Beomgyu dismisses, “And don’t you have work tomorrow? Shouldn’t you be sleeping?”

“ I have work _today_.” Yeonjun chuckles, but the sound trails off as he drifts into space.

“I’m serious about today, bear.”

Beomgyu sighs.

“I know. I am too. I’ll do my best.”

“And I will too.” Yeonjun says, peeling himself away from his boyfriend’s hold to look him in the eyes.

“I’m glad you told me about it.” Yeonjun says, but Beomgyu doesn’t speak a word in reply. Yeonjun wonders if Beomgyu’s unlocked a new skill of falling asleep at random, and with his eyes open, at that.

He moves to stand up with the full intention of taking a shower when Beomgyu pulls him to a stop by his arm. He turns to ask what’s wrong, but halts when he feels his boyfriend’s lips meet the skin of his cheek.

“Thank you.” Beomgyu whispers, and it’s all too fragile and wonderfully sincere. Yeonjun wants to reciprocate, maybe kiss him harder, but Beomgyu falls backwards into the bed, and squeezes his eyes shut.

He’s still holding onto Beomgyu’s hand, and he gives it a light squeeze.

“You’re welcome, always."

He’s on his way out the door when his foot presses against something that’s all too slippery and much too noodle-like to be considered tiled floor. He curses when he looks down-

Yeonjun's stepped on the ramen.


End file.
